Indebted to the Mafia King
One of the Girls

Eleni

A few days after our night in the hotel, I roll over in bed to find the sheets empty. Instead of getting frustrated, I flip the other way and grab my phone. As expected, a text from Dante sits at the top of my notifications.

Piacere all day today. Probably won't be back until late. Dinner?

I type out a quick affirmative and smile. Since I agreed to stay-and agreed to go to Tandon, though there was no way I was going to live on campus-he's obviously been trying. He tells me where he's going, or at least as much as he knows, and offers new plans every time work pulls him away. Butterflies riot in my stomach. I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

Christos made Dante kill him because he got so focused on the prize, he couldn't see anything in his way. That sounded like my brother. As much as I loved-love him, Christos could be a bulldozer. So maybe, just maybe, letting Dante back into my heart isn't a total betrayal of my family.

I get out of bed and ignore the fact I haven't called Mama since I decided not to join her in Greece. I've been spending most of my days trying to catch up on summer reading before the start of the fall semester and helping out with Saints' business here and there, but I've never really paid attention to Piacere. Tony ran it while Dante was healing up. Dante could be doing anything from running guns to napping with his head on his desk all day, and I'd have no idea. Maybe I'll ask if I can go with him someday soon, just see. I pull on a T-shirt and a long, loose skirt. I can always change before Dante gets home, if I want something fancier.

With a few books in hand, I head downstairs, intending to study in the sun on the back porch. As I reach the bottom, the door opens a crack.

"Eleni." Seb stands there, looking exhausted.

"What the hell?" I put the books down and hurry over to check him for injuries.

He shakes his head. "Just know I did everything I could."

That's when I hear the laughter. Shrill and confident and multi-voiced. I have a split second to step back before the door bursts the rest of the way open, and a small army of...women pour inside. I look from Seb to them, trying to figure out what's happening.

"Eleni!" the middle-aged woman in the front squeals, holding her arms out for a hug.

I definitely don't know this woman. "Um, hi?"

"She's Greek, Val. They do things different." Another woman politely elbows her way to the front and sticks her hand out. "Hi, doll. My name's Nicky. Don't mind these harpies, it's just not often we get another one."

I eye the woman's sky-high, bleach-blonde hair, the designer bag dangling from her wrist, the logos stamped across every edge of her tweed skirt-suit. She radiates the energy of someone used to being listened to. But I didn't spend two weeks running this organization to roll over to some PTA mom.

"Eleni." I shake her hand. "One of what?"

"Saints' wives!" Her smile fades a little as she looks me up and down. "You'll fit right in, I'm sure. Let me introduce you to everyone."

Only two weeks of training keeps me from fidgeting with my T-shirt while Nicky introduces me to the whole cadre of women. Italian-sounding names blur into a mass of fitted skirts and shirts so tight I can tell who had a boob job before I finish shaking their hands. I meet Seb's eye over the throng, and he shrugs. I shake my head at him minutely, and he leaves with his shoulders shaking in laughter.

"And last but not least, my Chloe." Nicky pushes the last woman in the group forward. "I hope you don't mind. She's not one of us"--she winks-"but she's been raised in the life, and I've been bringing her around for ages. The meeting just wouldn't feel right without her."

Chloe smiles a little sheepishly and sticks out her hand. I shake it gratefully, thrilled not to be the only twenty-something in the room. She's stunning. Her pale blonde hair, a natural counterpart to her mother's bottled approximation, sweeps up into a simple bun, and she wears a nearly identical suit to Nicky's, but I can tell by the stiffness in her posture that she's either not used to it or hates it. Even with my head spinning, my heart goes out to her a little. It doesn't seem like she wants to be in this meeting any more than I do.

"So, what are we meeting about?" I ask.

Nicky takes my arm and begins leading me through my own house. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I thought Dante would've told you. Every year, the Saints throw a barbecue. Just a little get-together for us, and he usually invites the who's-who of bosses. It's time to start planning!"

I don't ask any of these questions as Nicky marches into a sitting room I've literally never used before, and all of the women perch on the various couches like birds on a telephone wire. Tropical birds, based on the color schemes of their various outfits. A wingback chair in the middle of the room remains suspiciously empty, despite Nicky throwing a couple looks at it, so I sit there. As soon as my butt touches the cushion, a flurry of planning breaks out. I just absently nod along, trying not to feel like my world's been turned on its head. These women know Dante and I are only...whatever we are, not married, right? And why the hell have I gone from running the show to bulk-ordering burgers in only a couple weeks? Mama would know what to do here. I fiddle with my phone. I could call her. But then I'd either have to find a way to tell her about Christos or lie to her about Christos, and I don't know how to do either.

I shoot to my feet. "Does anybody want anything to drink?"

The conversation dies out. Nicky puts a hand on my arm.

"Oh, aren't you sweet." She wrinkles up her nose as she smiles. "Andrea usually makes sure there's sugar-free lemonade ready for us. Chloe, go help her get it."

I need space to breathe. I try to wave her off. "Really, I'm fine "

Nicky clicks her tongue. "You're Dante's girl. We can't make a decision in the world without you. And Chloe's a good girl, she'd love to help."

Chloe stands, silently underscoring her mother's words. I swallow down my grimace and lead Chloe to the kitchen she probably already knows the way to.

Thankfully, she stays quiet, giving me a second for my own thoughts. Through Dante, I'm in charge of these women. Not because this whole syndicate was mine, but because he fucks me. I pluck at the hem of my T-shirt and try not to seethe. They mean well. I think.

We turn into the kitchen and find Tony there, standing in front of the open fridge.

"When the hell did you get in here?" I ask conversationally. "You don't exactly blend into the crowd."

He starts to turn. "What, you don't think I could pull off-" Tony freezes, swallows. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Hey, Chloe. I didn't know you were here."

"Hi." She smiles. "We're planning the barbecue."

He nods and grabs a pitcher of yellow liquid. "Then this would be yours."

I bite my lip and look between them. I've literally never seen Tony stop joking. His tone is softer than I've ever heard it. What's going on?

"I can bring it in," he offers.

"Sure." I shake my head. "Bring some vodka, too. I'm gonna need more than lemonade to survive this."

Tony looks at me, and his smile turns sardonic again. "You think those women share a room without booze? This is already so strong I water it down most of the time."

Chloe giggles behind her hand. He glances at her, then away. I smile to myself as we walk back into the sitting room.

Predictably, Tony's arrival heralds another burst of conversation. The wives tell him how handsome he's gotten, how awful it is that he's not married, how sad it would be if his poor nonna met her maker before she met his wife. I pour myself a hearty glass of lemonade and take a deep breath, then clap.

"I'm sure we'd all love to torture Tony, but this barbecue won't plan itself."